


Unknown Variable

by orphan_account



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Mass Effect Kink Meme with the prompt: Mordin is given to the Krogans in exchange for Krogan support. (full prompt on click-through)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unknown Variable

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: In an effort to get the Krogans to join the fight against the reapers, the Salarians responsible for the genophage are given to the Krogans in exchange for Krogan support. Kinda AUish in which there's no way the genophage can be cured.
> 
> Here's the kink part: In order to shame Mordin, they hand him over to one of those Krogan perverts who likes the Salarians' flexibility. Cue to the Krogan knowing just how to get Salarians all hot and bothered, be it spending a long time waiting for Mordin's body to react, skill/experience with Salarian physiology, sex toys, or aphrodisiacs. Anything that will freak the fuck out of Mordin since he'd be overwhelmed with guilt, shame, and pleasure. I'd also prefer if Mordin were not hurt in this exchange, but being roughed around is okay. 
> 
> Super extra bonus points for an ending where Mordin is released/saved by Shep and begins to have a way more active sex drive than other Salarians.
> 
> http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/4309.html?thread=9129429

The sound of a bottle uncapping brought Mordin to consciousness. Thoughts whirled in shocks of color, clips of speech. He was here because of the Salarians. His people. Betrayal? No, a compromise. Given to the Krogans in return for their support. Genophage incurable. Why else would they want him? 

Mordin remained still for a few seconds, taking in his surroundings. He noticed first he was naked. His cheek pressed against a low-set white table, hands trapped on either side with bands of softly pulsing energy, his ankles shackled in the same fashion. Legs spread obscenely apart, his body weight rested almost fully on his knees. He tested the bonds; they held fast and frictionless. He wouldn’t be able to hurt himself in these cuffs, but he wouldn’t be able to escape them either. 

As the pieces slid into place, Mordin heard a grunt from behind.

“Glad you’re awake. Not as fun starting when they’re unconscious.” The voice was deep, even for a Krogan, gravel rough and nearly unintelligible. 

Torture, then, Mordin decided, predictable. Plan to make sure I pay for neutering their people. Too bad. Will never be enough. 

Mordin sniffed, resigning himself to whatever pain the Krogan decided to inflict. Selfish frustration that this would be the last memory he would receive, knowing the scene of the beach, of studying shells would never come to fruition. Yet, maybe Shepard would succeed in finally defeating the reapers, if only this could be a catalyst for her victory. 

Mordin jerked when the Krogan touched the back of his thighs, beneath the slight curve of his ass. The calloused roughness felt so strange, the heat from the Krogan’s hands practically pulsed when they made contact. Mordin had rarely ever been touched so intimately, and it had been years since his last coupling.

“Relax. I’m going to take care of you, doctor. Urdnot Wrex figured a normal punishment wasn’t good enough for you, and death too swift.”

Realization sinking in, Mordin willed himself to be still; struggling would do nothing. This torture was… unusual, but not unheard of, he told himself. The Krogan grasped Mordin’s thighs tightly, the rough, blunt tips of this fingers grazing the Salarian’s skin. 

“Afraid you will find me less than satisfactory. Though sure my pleasure is of little concern.”  
The Krogan hummed, though it sounded more like a growl. His hands pressed higher, grasping Mordin’s ass, touch gentle and firm, unthreatening. Mordin only felt uncomfortable and on edge, intimate touches rarely fazed him. Perhaps the Krogan didn’t know about Salarians’ sex drive. 

It was quiet. Only the hum of environment control and the Krogan’s soft breathing were heard in the room. The Krogan continued grasping and massaging around his thighs and back. His too warm hands were slick with some unscented liquid, Mordin noted. Embarrassing, but bearable.

Mordin wondered when the Krogan would give in, when he would grow frustrated with his unresponsiveness and move to more violent means. Yet, the moment didn’t come, and the minutes ticked past. The cool table warmed beneath him, and Mordin felt himself, by tiny increments, relax.

That’s when he felt it. A soft tingling along his body, starting at the base of his spine and pooling lower. So gentle, almost a tickle. Alien sensation. His mind scrambled, trying to explain what was happening. Aphrodisiacs? No, usually accompanied by delirium and dizziness among other side effects. Then what?  
He felt himself grow noticeably hotter, heat gathering in splotches along his skin. The tingling intensified, and a small tremor began coursing through him. 

“Yeah, there we go. You’re starting to feel it,” the Krogan rumbled, crowding even closer than before; his armored thighs pressed at the back of Mordin’s legs. His slimed hands began palming the back of Mordin’s neck, down his shoulders, and returned to his thighs, grasping and pulling him backwards to bend Mordin over the edge of the table. 

“W-wait. No, no. What are you doing?” Mordin tried to crawl away, but the Krogan’s hands clamped in a vice, making the Salarian groan. He fought between struggling and trying to keep still, but the new sensations made his body twist and grow taut. 

The Krogan kicked his feet apart into a stance most humans would find uncomfortable, the restraints conforming as long as the Krogan was in control of their movements. Mordin tried to use that knowledge to formulate a plan, escape…escape to where? Salarians needed him here. Needed Krogans. 

“Does it scare you?” The Krogan murmured, shifting his weight to wet his hands with more slippery liquid. A rough hand spread and held Mordin’s cheeks apart, exposing the Salarian more than he had ever been in his life. 

The first touch made him start; the liquid felt cold before warming quickly when the Krogan began working his fingers around his cloaca. It was a teasing, ghosting touch, and as the Krogan grazed the edges of the opening, the first true pulse of arousal twisted in Mordin’s gut. 

“I know that you’re feeling it. Unlike anything you’ve felt before?” The Krogan leaned over, whispering into the hollow of the Salarian’s throat as he dragged his fingers over Mordin’s cloaca, never pushing in but pressing over in ways that began to make Mordin jerk. The Salarian pushed his face harder against the surface of the table, biting down on his lips. At least Krogan wouldn’t hear him cry out.

Though Mordin fought to keep his composure, the Krogan seemed content to work slowly, ever patient, slowly unraveling him. A strange one, if Mordin had the time to think about it. The thick, hot feeling in Mordin’s insides began to throb, and he felt the stirrings of his cloaca beginning to drip, a gentle trickle that slipped past the Krogan’s fingers and onto the table beneath.  
The Krogan growled appreciatively. “You know, it usually takes your species so much longer to get wet. Did you want this, doctor? Have you ever mated?” The stroking never ceased as he spoke, but the angle changed, gentle pressure applied. The tip of a finger slipped in, eliciting a strangled sound from Mordin’s throat. He shut his eyes so tight it made his head throb. 

“That’s it. Responsive.” The Krogan withdrew and pushed back in, slightly deeper, before withdrawing again. The rhythm established was slow and shallow, driving Mordin to writhe and shake and bite back keening sounds. He hated himself, hated this Krogan, this stranger, alien, who brought forth such an unnatural, inescapable reaction. His cloaca began to spill more freely, easing the unbearably gentle, steady motions into something noisy and obscene. 

He felt the Krogan shift, the heat against his back fading and the finger withdrawing, allowing Mordin to sniff and release a shaky breath of relief. He took in the quiet sound of the Krogan resettling, and nearly gasped when he felt hot breath where fingers were seconds before.

Mordin pressed hard against the table, trying to draw away, but the Krogan latched his hands around his upper thighs, pinning him. The Salarian’s skin slipped beneath the grip, and Mordin realized he was leaking everywhere, so much more than he ever thought possible.

The first draw of the Krogan’s tongue across his cloaca made him moan hard and low; it was so intense and shocking, impossible heat partnered with a strong, wet muscle had his knees nearly buckling. 

“I’ll breed you so hard. I’ll eradicate the mind that destroyed my people.” The Krogan began to lap at Mordin’s cloaca, mixing saliva and seminal fluids and moaning at the taste, the vibrations strangling Mordin with the need to scream. The Salarian collapsed against the table, yet his legs were still tightly spread and shaking in the bindings.

He clawed at the smooth surface when the invading tongue finally began dipping inside, twisting and swirling, making abrasive popping sounds whenever the Krogan would pull away. The rhythm became more mangled, Mordin gnawed at his lips to keep silent, but the unexpected deep, slow thrusts coupled with shallow, quick motions frayed thought and reason. 

“Pointless. Not punishment if pleasurable.” Mordin’s voice wavered, hoarse with trying to keep his pitch even. 

Laughter rumbled through the Krogan, lips and tongue still caressing the sensitive tissue.

“It’s worse than punishment. All your intelligence means nothing if it’s overrun by such base reactions. If only your teammates, your people, could see you now, leaking all over your thighs, my lips, my tongue.” 

The Krogan slipped his finger inside Mordin easily, the fluids providing so much lube it was sloppy work that dribbled past the questing hand. Krogan fingers were large, but the Krogan managed to wriggle his tongue beside them as he continued to work Mordin into a groaning, trembling mess. 

Mordin’s body moved into a fever pitch, nearing a peak he thought would never be so intense, so incredibly necessary and unavoidable.  
When the Krogan withdrew, Mordin sighed, a startlingly frustrated and distraught noise. The Salarian cringed, hating himself. Wishing to be flogged, flayed, decapitated. Anything. Pleasure was to be found in knowledge, mental achievement, friendship. Not like this. 

The Krogan rose to his feet, the heavy steps sounding final judgment. He could hear the Krogan moving, armor placed carefully, taking his time. Drawing it out.

The Krogan shifted Mordin onto his back, allowing the Salarian to see him for the first time. A large Krogan, bigger than many he had seen before, bigger than average statistics suggested for his species. Very scarred, large shoulder hump. Strong hunter and warrior. Deep auburn coloring. Heavyset-

The Krogan lifted Mordin’s leg, positioning until it was parallel with Mordin’s head. When he withdrew his arm, the binding locked, pinning the Salarian’s leg. He tried not to watch the Krogan admire his handiwork, but his torturer’s deep growls and rapidly thickening cock made it hard for the Salarian to look away. 

The Krogan slicked himself with the liquid from Mordin’s cloaca and braced one hand on the table, eyes never leaving Mordin, drinking the scene in with predator intensity. 

There was no pain, only discomfort at being so full, so ready for the intrusion. Mordin managed to cut off his broken warble prematurely, feet and hands curling and flexing against the glowing bindings. His thoughts of wrongess, of misuse of body parts, of reproduction functionality, were blotted out by the overwhelming heat of their coupling.

The Krogan worked into him like he wasn’t quad deep in a dripping, needy Salarian, his movements still unmistakably tender.

“Despicable.” The last word Mordin could speak before he rapidly descended into mindless pleasure. The rocking motion quickened, the sound was more disgusting that he could even imagine, squishing and smacking like it was all he lived for. His voice escaped him in startling grunts and broken sobs, though Salarians didn’t have the capacity to cry. 

The Krogan maneuvered him into many positions, but one bled into the next, and he didn’t realize that he was begging until the Krogan laughed and gave him what he so desperately needed. 

Mordin never felt pleasure so intense again.

Until the following night, when the torture began anew.


End file.
